I'm Cold, John
by Jo31891
Summary: Click, flick, snap! Over and over. Restless. He’s restless. I don’t want him to leave me behind. John, please don’t leave me alone. Keep me warm. I’m Cold, John. Male-slash; Iceman & Pyro


**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Warning: male-slash; nudity; language**

**Summery: Click, flick, snap! Over and over. Restless. He's restless. I don't want him to leave me behind. John, please don't leave me alone. Keep me warm. I'm Cold, John. Male-slash; Iceman & Pyro**

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"**I'm Cold, John."**

I remember that look. He had that same look when we first met. Was that four or five years ago? I can't remember. It's impossible to remember life without him. When we met, he had that same look in his eyes. Anxiety. Anger. Restlessness. When we met, he couldn't stay still. If he was sitting, his right knee would bob up and down quickly, nonstop. He was always nibbling on his finger nails, chewing them down to nothingness. He was always flicking his lighter. _Click, flick, snap! Click, flick, snap! Click, flick, snap_! Over and over in a wordless mantra. A symphony understood only by his ears. He was like that for a week after moving in. His eyes were always shifting, his muscles tense. He was nervous, alert. Frightened. Like someone was going to come at him without warning. Like he had to be ready to protect himself at any moment.

When the Professor places students in double dorm rooms, he pairs them based on a level of compatibility only he can figure out. Sometimes it's based on mutation and sometimes it's based on personality. I've seen him pair male and female dorm rooms before based on compatibility. Nothing terribly inappropriate or volatile ever happens in those cases because Professor X is just that good. I had been staying in a private room for most of a year before he arrived. No one could stand to sleep in a room with me. Said it was too cold to tolerate. I couldn't control my temperature back then.

Professor placed him in my room. I don't really know why, that was never explained to me. He was so angry. He refused to acknowledge me at first, focused entirely on his lighter. _Click, flick, snap!_ He would stay up all night just messing with his lighter. It was like a lullaby. _Click, flick, snap! Click, flick, snap!_ Breathing. The heavy breathing of another human. The smell of sulfur, gunpowder and rain. And heat. I loved the tingling warmth on my skin. Even if he was on the other side of the room, I could feel the shift in the temperature. Without even realizing it he was fighting off the natural cold my body exuded. He was so much stronger than I was at that time. He was able to warm my skin without even touching. He still can.

It stayed like that for a week. He didn't talk to anyone. He didn't sleep. He didn't attend class. He didn't eat. He was always moving, roaming the hallways and gardens. He liked being outdoors. He liked sunbathing. I can still find him spread out on the grass in a hidden corner, soaking up the warm sunlight. That was the only time he slept. He and I were the only ones who knew that place and he didn't even know it.

When he finally talked to me, it was an insult. A sharp jab, a rhetorical question. A snide comment meant to offend. But it just made me smile. And it consumed him. Soon it became a battle of words. He would insult me, tease me, anything to make me laugh or smile or fight back with sarcasm and humor. At one point, he started to laugh, he started to smile. He became such a heavy presence in my life that I soon found my world engrossed by him.

It took him a month before he could sleep in our room. He complained about how cold it was, how he hated the cold. "I do too." I said. He was surprised by that. At that moment, all the anger, all the anxiety left those dark mocha eyes and was replaced with teenage curiosity. Something innocent and fresh. I loved the look on his face. He crawled into my bed that night and questioned me, pestered me until we were both so tired, he fell asleep beside me. His heat enveloped me, pushing the cold away. I felt my skin tingle and burn. I had forgotten what warmth was before that, having been cold for so long.

It took him two months before he went to class. He didn't go to his classes. He went to mine. Sat in front of me in every class, despite seating charts or complaints of classmates. When someone protested, he growled and sunk lower in the desk. He refused to move, refused to leave my side. Professor X reasoned that as long as he was attending classes, it was alright. My teachers added an extra desk, shuffled their seating charts and accommodated my shadow of a roommate.

It took me nearly a month to get him to eat with me. I don't know how he got by before. He didn't like eating in the cafeteria with the other students. He didn't trust them. I made lunches in the kitchen and we ate in that grassy sunlit corner of the gardens. It took him a while to relax enough to nap after a meal with me beside him. At the end of that month, he was sleeping with his head in my lap.

It took him three months to talk to anyone else. Even Professor X. It was the same as with me. Snide sarcasm with snickering laughter. Angry grumbles with glaring mocha eyes. He did not like people. But he liked me.

He became my life, my existence. He was heat. So hot I couldn't help but cling to him. I wanted that warmth, wanted that overwhelming fire on my skin. I hated being frozen. He focused all his energy on me. I was his control. He put all his focus on keeping me warm and it calmed him. And it comforted me.

I remember that restlessness in him when he first arrived all those year ago. It had faded away. It had settled, he had settled. He focused entirely on me.

I watch as he nibbles on the tips of his nails.

_Click, flick, snap! Click, flick, snap!_

His knee bobbed up and down when he sat.

Restless.

John was restless again.

I watched my roommate as he played with his lighter. Those mocha eyes burned with anger. His body was always moving. He looked like he was ready to bolt out the door at any moment. He was always eyeing windows and roads. Like he wanted nothing more than to take off in a mad run, like hell was on his heels. As if he were running from a devil frozen in a sea of ice. A hell from Dante's stories. A hell I called home.

It started after Rouge came home. I had been so scared for her. She had disappeared so suddenly after the incident with Logan. She'd come home different, changed. There was white in her hair. She was tired and confused, frightened. Logan had left and she withdrew a little, clinging to my side.

It was then that I noticed the look in his eyes. Those mocha eyes that used to burn with joy and folly. They started to burn with something darker, more sinister. Anger and frustration. Jealousy. He started sleeping in my bed, his arms wrapped around me like metal bands. He refused to release me, even when I couldn't sleep. He started to burn so hot, I couldn't stand it. So hot I was sweating. My clothes felt sticky and clung to my skin. Halfway through the night I had to force him to let me remove them. He let me but never let me go. His arm was always on my hips or around my shoulders. Sometimes he would strip as well and we lay like that for hours. Naked and hot. Sometimes he complained about things. Things he hated. Things that made him angry. People that made him angry. People he thought were the lowest scum of the earth. He never mentioned Rouge but I knew when he was thinking about her in context to what he was saying. His arms got tighter and he pressed his hot flesh flush to mine.

Soon, he stopped sleeping alone. He couldn't sleep unless I was beside him, in his arms. He didn't even sleep after lunch anymore. Rouge was always with us, always by my side. He refused to show her our corner of the garden. Refused to let her any deeper into our lives. He never clung to me when she was around but he got me away as soon as he could. Even Rouge started to notice that. She complained that we were never alone, never had time to spend with each other. I couldn't say anything. Didn't know what to say, to be honest.

Then he stopped talking. He didn't talk in class, didn't banter with classmates or communicate with teachers. He started skipping his sessions with Professor X. He was always with me, always complaining in my ear. He didn't talk to Rouge. He talked to me. He talked around her. He didn't look at her, he didn't acknowledge her. He focused his everything on me.

I had to force him to eat sometimes. He never complained about my cooking but he just didn't want to eat it. I made him eat three bites of everything in his meals. He didn't like it but he obeyed. It got so far that I was the only one he listened to, the only one who could control him. But that's not entirely true. He obeyed because he let me order him. He let me have control simply because he didn't want to deal with it.

But even I can't completely control St. John.

"My brother asked you a simple question."

Dark mocha eyes shifted upward. His head was tilted to the side, chin slightly raised. He was facing me, everything but his eyes pointed straight at me.

"Why're you being such a dick?"

"Yeah! Why're you being such a dick?"

A smirk teased at his lips. Those mocha eyes were burning. Always burning.

"Because I can."

His voice is dark and sultry, like chocolate. Thick and lightly accented. His tone is low and confident. It makes me shiver with warmth.

"Can I have a light?"

_Click, flick!_ Those dark eyes flit with the orange flame. His grin fades as he focuses on the flame. I can feel his heat surround me, pressing against my flesh. It caresses and teases, pooling in specific places. Those dark eyes flit in my direction for half a second. Dark mocha meets icy blue. _SNAP!_

"Sorry. Can't help ya, pal."

He snickered, leaning back in his seat. He turns his eyes back onto me, focusing his fire on me. I shift uncomfortably, trying not to return that boyish smirk. It is funny. And I'm relieved. He's talking to someone again. Maybe he's settling down again.

"John, knock it off." Rouge breaks in, the laughter in her voice gone.

Those dark eyes glare her way.

She refuses that angry glare, her own coco brown eyes turning to me. I can't decide who's worse.

"Why don't you stop showing off?" I mutter, trying to reach him without angering him.

Those dark eyes return to me. A challenge. He sees it as a game. That's good. Better than anger.

"Oh-! For her? I can't help it if your girlfriend's getting excited."

He's jabbing. I can't tell if he's serious or not. The heat rises, consuming me. I push back, forcing the thin film of sweat to freeze on my skin. It's the only way to keep myself in control.

"I don't think she's getting excited."

Those dark eyes narrow. He can feel my power. He can feel the shift in temperature. I'm defying him. Have I finally reached the point where my farce control ends? Have I overstepped my control over him?

"Why don't you just sit back? We're trying to have a good time here, alright?"

"I think you're the only one having a good time."

Rouge snort beside me and I look up. One of the normal's eyeing her pale skin, grinning. I feel a surge of internal heat, anger. He senses it too. My attention has been separated and I've broken what little control I had.

The taller normal snatches his lighter.

"Hey!"

He leaps to his feet. The other normal puts himself between them, pressing into his face.

It's so hot. I can't stand it. I can feel sweat building on my brow.

Rouge frowns, glancing my way. I shift again, uncomfortable. She's starting to sweat too.

"That's real cute man."

Those dark eyes focus on the smoldering ashes of the cigarette. He glares at the kid before him, invading his personal space. I can see sweat building on the teen's lower lip, cheeks flush with heat but the kid remains calm, composed. How can the normal stand being so close?

"What ya gonna do?" the normal hisses. The other blows a waft of smoke in his direction, over the brother's shoulder.

He steps backward, repulsed. He sneers at them.

"Suddenly not so tough."

He steps back farther. I can't take the heat anymore. It's too much. I stand, surprising Rouge. I step toward them.

He winks and flames burst from the cigarette. The normal yells in terror as his sleeve in consumed in flames. I quickly jump forward. He glares at my back as I quickly put the fire out, a layer of frost forming on the kid's shoulder and arm. I feel a hand on my elbow, constricting my muscles and causing hot pain to shoot through my body. I wince and back off. I draw all his heat into me, wanting him to focus it all on me. He's so angry and hot. I feel like I'm burning alive.

That night, he refuses to speak to me. He refuses to look at me.

A few days later, he disappears. When I woke up, he was missing. He didn't come to classes, he didn't go the lunch. I even separated from Rouge and looked in our corner for him. He was nowhere. I even asked the Professor. "He's not on the grounds." That was what was said. "He'll come back. Don't worry." It was said with a sad smile. As if the Professor knew something. Knew something that would hurt me.

That night, I found him in our room. He was pacing, throwing clothes out of his dresser and onto his bed. It felt like hellfire in the room. My clothes clung to my skin and I felt smothered.

"John?"

He looked up sharply, those dark eyes glaring at me. He focused on his task, shoving wrinkled clothes into a bag. It looked like my old duffle bag. He didn't have luggage. He had come with nothing. I had bought him a lot of things. But never luggage. I didn't want him to have luggage. I didn't want him to think about leaving.

"I'm going." He hissed. "I can't stay here anymore."

"What?" I gasp, overwhelmed by the heat and his words. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe.

"I'm leaving." He stated. "I can't stay here. I can't stand it here. I can't stand this place, these people." He snarled as he shoved more things into the bag.

No. No he can't. He can't leave. Not now. Not yet.

Restless. So restless. He can't stay in one place for too long. He gets restless, anxious. Uncertain.

"John, wait. Think about this first. Where will you go? How will you pay for anything?" I tried to think, tried to comprehend. I tried to convince him. I don't want him to leave. I don't want him to leave me. I reach for him, tugging on his shoulder. "Let's talk about this first."

"I'm done talking." He growled, shrugging off my hand roughly. "I'm tired of sitting here. I'm tired of waiting. I hate this place."

"John, please!" I grab for his arm again.

Don't leave me here. Don't leave me behind. I don't want to be left behind. Stay with me! Please stay with me!

"He's always there! Damn it I hate it! Always controlling me! I can't move! I can't do anything! I-"

"John, just listen to me! Please don't! You can't!"

I pull hard on his arm, trying to separate him from the bag. Trying to get him to look at me.

"Let go of me! I can't do this anymore! Always trying to suppress it! I'm sick of it! Sick of this place!"

"John, we can do it together! Just please don't go! You can't leave! The Professor can help! He can-"

"SHUT UP!"

His free arm lashes out. His hot fist collides with my cheek. The force pushes me away and my body hits the hard floor. I can feel the overwhelming heat on my face, pain shuttling through the nerve endings and into my brain. It hurts so much. It hurts like nothing I can remember.

"Bobby…"

His voice is soft and shrill. He never sounds like that. Only when he's about to cry.

He's in front of me, consuming my sight with only him. I can't see anything but his face, hands trembling just over my flesh. He can't touch me, can't bring himself to touch me. I lift a hand a caress the throbbing blister. I feel the chill of my hand and focus on it. I press the icy palm to my cheek, soothing the burn. Like a cold compress but better. The chill lingers there when I remove my hand. I look into those mocha eyes, wide and filled with fear and sorrow.

"I-I'm so- I don't kn- I couldn't hel- please Bobby. I don't know what to do."

He reaches as if to cradle my jaw in his hands. He shifts to hold me. He can't touch me. He's shaking everywhere, his body fighting with itself. I smile.

"I'm alright." I whisper.

I tug on his arms, wrapping them loosely around my hips. He curls his fingers in, pressing on the bones. He shakes, gritting his teeth in an attempt to control his body.

"I'm suffocating, Bobby!" he hisses.

I rest my hands behind his head, placing my cool brow against his. It cools his, calms him.

"He's always in my head! I can't get away from him. He's always there, always trying to suppress me. I feel smothered here. I can't do anything. I feel like I'm either going to explode or I'm going to go out. It's so hard to breath. I can't stay here, Bobby. I can't stand it here."

I card my fingers through the auburn hair on the nap of his neck. I caress his warm skin, my thumbs stroking the soft skin along his jaw and under his ears.

"Just wait a little longer, John. In a few months, we'll be eighteen. We'll be free. We can go wherever we want, do anything we want. They can't keep us here after that. So just wait. Just a little longer.

"Don't make me. Please don't make me Bobby. I hate this place. I hate is here. I'm going to die. Please don't make me stay Bobby."

I felt my heart twist and my stomach ache. John doesn't beg. He never begs. Not to anyone. Only to me. I'm the only one he asks. I'm the only one he trusts. He was in pain and he was looking to me for help. For permission. I don't want to let him go but I can't keep him here. I can't cage him like an animal. He's not meant to stay in one place for long. Not meant to be pinned down under someone's control.

"Alright." I whisper.

I wrap my arms more firmly around his neck, pulling myself flush to his front. He burrows into my shoulder, his arms forming thick bands around my middle. I inhale slowly, taking in the scent of sulfur and rain. I try to memorize it. I want to keep it forever in my memory. So I'll never forget. So I'll never be alone.

I felt his hands slip under my shirt. Hot palms pressed flush against my back. His touch burns in a way I have never known. I had grown up with only the touch of a mother and father, the touch of a brother. I was never able to experience the touch of another person's warmth. Not for a long time. I have never experienced warmth like John. Only John can make me hot. Only John can make my flesh burn.

I can feel tears in my eyes. I hold him tighter, wanting to memorize this feeling. This heat. I will never know heat like this after John.

"I don't wanna be left behind."

The words fell from my lips before I could grasp them. I didn't want him to hear. I didn't want him to regret. I wanted him to be happy. I wanted him to live his life to the fullest. And if leaving this place would make him better, I don't want to stop him.

But I don't want to be left behind.

I feel his body pulling away and I try to hold on. I don't want to let him go just yet. I don't want to see his face. Angry and cruel.

But, he was never like that before.

He touches my elbows and I relax my limbs. He pulls them away from his neck and shoulders, allowing us to separate. I focus my gaze on his front. I don't want to see those eyes. Those eyes that make me hot without even trying. Those eyes that see everything I'm thinking. That see everything I'm feeling.

Those large warm hands roam my arms, caressing muscle and skin under the thin material of my oxford shirt. Those nibbled fingertips caress the flesh of my throat, burning a trail of fire in their wake. His thumbs press against my pulse and press, forcing me to lift my chin. Our eyes meet. Those burning mocha brown eyes that delve into my heart. I can't lie when I look into those eyes. His thumbs stroke my jaw line, tempted to wipe away the tears rolling down my cheeks. His eyes linger on the burn and he resists the urge. He won't touch my face. He can't touch my face.

I want him to.

"I'm not leaving you behind." He whispers.

My heart lurches into my throat and I want to sob.

How can he lie to me? John never lies to me. Why now? Why when it matters most? Why when I feel like my world is collapsing around me does he have to lie to me?

"I won't leave you behind Bobby," he insisted, smothering my hair and ears with his hands. He tugs me forward, his hot lips pressing against my cool brow. "I won't leave you behind." He whispers.

"You are. You are leaving. You can't stay here."

"But I'm not leaving you here."

"No. John, no. I can't-"

"Yes you can!" he forces me to look into those dark eyes. They're begging, pleading to me to listen, to obey. "You can, Bobby! Come with me! Come away with me."

"John, my parents. They-"

"_They_ left you behind."

Right. He's right. They did leave me behind. They know. They know what I am. I never told them but I'm sure they know. I never hear from them. Even in the summer, they never speak to me. They never touch me. They never hear me. Not like John. John speaks to me. John touches me. John hears me. No one but John. There's no one like John.

"Come with me. Leave with me."

Don't leave me behind.

"Stay with me. Don't ever leave my side."

Don't leave me alone.

"John."

Don't ever let me go.

"I'm cold."

"I know."

He holds me tightly, pressing me flush to his chest. His arms are like bands of metal, strong and eternal. They will never release me.

I never want them to.

"I'm cold, John."

"I know, Bobby."

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**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. This is the first official X-men fiction I've written so it might be a little rough or off. I apologize for that. This is a one-shot, as far as I know. If it continues, it may not be in Bobby's point of view anymore. All in all, I'm happy to finally put something new out there for my readers. Thanks a lot for all your support!**

**Jo Manta**


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